Rain
by faepunk
Summary: Oneshot.  When Michael met Nika...she needed her green card.  He needed her assistance.  And it was raining.


She shivered, freezing in the darkness. It was raining, and she was scared and cold and sore…and nothing was going to change.

They'd promised her. In America, they'd said, there are good jobs. You can make money. Good jobs. Safe. Good work. Ha.

She tugged at her skirt, which barely covered the backs of her thighs. Good work was not standing on a street corner, being watched by a wretched excuse for a man as you tried to peddle your body for a little bit of money. That was not good work. That was not what she'd been promised.

She felt her eyes welling up with tears, and for once, she didn't push them back. What was the point? It was raining, and her make up was already smeared. She felt one tear run down her cheek, a hot droplet that mixed with the cold rain.

She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to find some warmth. Just a little warmth, that was all she wanted.

"Where the fuck is everyone?" he said. His voice was harsh, and she flinched. He was angry again; angry enough to beat her? Maybe, she didn't doubt he might be. She looked down the block, to where another one of his girls was standing. Even from here, she could see how she shivered.

He grabbed her shoulder and shoved her against the wall. "Stop that, you bitch," he hissed. "No one wants someone who looks like they're comin' off smack."

"It's cold," she whimpered, knowing that her explanations didn't matter. He was pissed, and she was closest.

"Don't mouth off to me, bitch," he said, and he backhanded her hard. She flinched.

"Please," she whimpered. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you should be, you wretched—"

"How much do you want?" An unfamiliar voice asked, pulling the pimp out of his diatribe.

The pimp released her. "Which one?" he asked smoothly, turning towards the voice.

"Her," the man said, gesturing at her shivering form. "She's not American, is she?"

"No," the pimp said. "I've got some American girls, if you'd rather—"

"How much do you want for her?" the man interrupted.

She looked at him. He was tall, thin, young, very handsome. Not the usual type to buy a whore, she thought. With looks like his, he'd never need to. Women would line up around the block for a man like that. She bit her lower lip.

"That depends," her pimp asked. "How long do you want her?"

"Forever," the man said.

Her eyes widened. Forever? What did that mean? Was he going to hurt her? Kill her? She felt her shaking get worse, but try as she might, she couldn't stop it.

"Forever? Are you shittin' me?" the pimp asked.

"No," the man replied. "I want her. How much?"

The price he named was scandalous. Surely she wasn't worth that much. But the man nodded. "Deal," he said.

He led her away, taking her elbow. She didn't resist; she belonged to him now, didn't she? He'd bought her. The tears kept flowing down her face, but in the rain, she didn't think he'd notice.

"My car's over here," he said quietly. "We're almost there." His voice was gentle, and she didn't understand. Who would be gentle with someone like her, and why?

He opened the car door for her. "Get in," he said. She hesitated, frightened. "Please," he said. "It's a lot warmer inside."

Well, if he was going to hurt or kill her, at least she'd be warm. She sat down. He carefully shut the door behind her. She stifled her tears.

The man got in the driver's seat and shut the door. He turned to face her. "I'm sorry about that," he said.

"About what?" she asked, surprised.

"Um…buying you," he said. "I couldn't think of a faster way to get him to stop hurting you."

She didn't respond. What did it matter to him, if someone hurt her?

"My name's Michael," he said, and he held out his hand.

She looked at him for a long moment. "Nika," she replied, taking his hand and shaking it.

He nodded and put his keys in the ignition, starting the car. "Seatbelt," he said quietly, buckling his own. She pulled it over her lap, still watching him.

He put the car in drive.

"What do you want from me?" she asked.

He took a deep breath. "Your accent," he said. "You aren't from America?"

"No," she said.

"Are you legal?" he asked.

She shook her head. He nodded.

"Okay. So…you want your green card, right?" he asked.

She looked at him cautiously. "Yes," she said.

He nodded. "Okay. Well, I want something too," he said. "So, here's the deal, Nika. We're going to get married. You are going to get your green card. In exchange, you are going to help me out. What do you say?"

He didn't look at her. She gaped at him.

"You're serious?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "In two days, I am going to rob a bank. I will end up in prison. And you are going to help me once I am in there."

He was serious. But he'd said…"I get my green card?"

"As long as you help me," he said.

She looked at him cautiously. "And that is all you want?"

"That's all I want," he said.

She nodded. "Okay," she said.

"Okay?" he asked.

"Yes. I will do it," she said.

He nodded. "Okay," he said.

They drove on in the darkness.


End file.
